


Traffic Light Night

by Anonymouth



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:12:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymouth/pseuds/Anonymouth
Summary: There Once Was A Surgeon At Holby(who, thankfully, was really shit at Limericks, anyway)A bit of teasing on Traffic Light Night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No idea when this is set. Before (or ignoring) Kiev, death and the resulting sapphic angst fest, anyway.

They stood at the bar, four battle-weary soldiers hovering at the brink of exhaustion. No one argued when Serena’s money hit the counter first. Once served, they spent a few more minutes in silence, taking hefty swigs of their beverages, their eyes glossy and far-away. Serena drained her glass with a final swallow, and a sigh that seemed to break the seal around them. Their focus adjusted to the present, the very real, very un-bloody, very welcome, Albie’s.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll still share,” Serena shot at Bernie’s arched eyebrows. Bernie shrugged and held out her glass for a top up.   
“Right, I see where this is going,” Fletch chimed in, grinning.  
“After today, Nurse Fletcher, could there possibly be any other way?”  
“Fair enough,” he drained his pint in a few glugs, and reached for Raf’s glass.  
“Well, I’m not complaining!” Raf handed over his almost empty pint. “But maybe it’d be for the best if we sat down now.”  
  
Fletch waited by the bar as the other three scouted a table and unceremoniously dumped themselves at it. When he returned with the drinks - “how can yah really drink this stuff by the bottle?!” - he was followed by a grinning blonde. He shrugged, clueless, at the questioning glances as she thrust a small device into everyone’s hand then disappeared.  
“Oh!” Fletch exclaimed, gesturing to the poster on the bar hatch. “Traffic Light Night.”  
“Again?” Serena asked, flipping her device over disinterestedly on the table.  
“The first one was a roaring success, by all accounts,” Bernie added. She was thrown haphazardly into a chair, and Serena couldn’t help but marvel at how artfully exhausted decorated her.  
“Ah comes you know that, Mrs. Botticelli?”  
When three sets of eyes turned on Fletch in wonder, he raised his hands. “What?! She’s sittin’ there, all draped like, in she? Like a paintin’ or summin’.”  
“Botticelli?” Raf questioned, incredulously.  
“Yeah,” Fletch nodded, defensively. “I remember studyin’ ‘im at school. Renaissance, like– what?!” He rolled his eyes, more so when everyone chuckled at his, “It was just an observation. I do know some culture, yah know!”  
Serena was secretly thrilled that Fletch had made the comment. She had, after all, been wondering at Bernie’s beauty herself, and was grateful of the excuse to now casually drink her in.  
“Anyway, _Venus Wolfe_ ,” she was inordinately satisfied when Bernie blushed rather profusely. “How _do_ you know it was wildly successful, hmm?” Serena arched her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass, and Raf whistled quietly.  
“Oi oi, lover’s tiff!” he quipped, his and Fletch’s chuckles quickly becoming forced as they tried to determine which woman coughed, spluttered, and generally awkward-ised more. Bernie recovered swiftly, stretching forward to place her glass on the table.  
“Oh, come on, you’d have to be in a coma to even have a slim chance of escaping the whispers in this hospital.”  
Everyone laughed, Serena loudly and rather high-pitched as she buried her face in her wine glass and resolutely refused to meet Fletch’s mirthful eyes. 

  
  
Another round of drinks later saw them all comfortably Renaissance at the table. Serena rolled her eyes as she leaned in to top up her’s and Bernie’s glasses.  
“I swear, if that man continues to flash his green light and repulsive teeth at me, I shan’t be responsible for where that bloody device ends up– don’t look!” she hissed, as three very relaxed bodies hastened to turn, shuffle, and stare at the man by the bar.  
“Oh, come on, Ms. Campbell. He looks like a good sport," Raf reasoned, his eyes sparkling.  
“He looks like he avoids _good sport_ on penalty of visiting a good oral hygienist,” Serena quipped.  
“Nuffin’ wrong with a man that likes 'is food. Least you know the way to 'is 'eart,” Fletch added with a wink.  
“Yes. Through Jac Naylor’s operating theatre soon, no doubt.”  
Bernie smirked. “Come on, Serena. I bet he knows some cracking pick up lines. Cheer us all up.”  
Serena blinked. “Oh, well. Right, then. I’m sorry, I forgot that my potentials in the dating pool should be measured by how much amusement it provides for you!”  
“I bet you’re a sucker for a bit of cheesy charm.”  
Serena barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Serena Campbell, have we met?” she stuck her hand out at Bernie, who’s smirk only grew as she took it.  
“Bernie Wolfe. Unrelenting.”  
They loosened their grip but held fingers for longer than would ever be necessary.  
“Yes, quite,” Serena replied, sternly, her eyes dancing.  
There was a moment of silence before Raf started with a whisper. “Is that a ladder in your tights…”  
“Oh, Lord…”  
“Or…” Fletch leaned exaggeratedly on the table. “A stairway to heaven?”  
Serena worked hard at her resting face.  
“I don’t wear tights.”  
“I’m looking for treasure,” Raf continued, and without missing a beat, Fletch delivered. “Can I look around your chest?”  
At this, Bernie couldn’t contain a prolonged snort.  
“Don’t encourage them further,” Serena shot at her, barely containing her own chuckles.  
“Well,” Fletch pretended to contemplate, his hand rubbing his chin. “She ain’t swoonin' at the one liners.”  
“Maybe he’s more of a limerick guy, anyway,” Raf mused, quirking his eyebrow at Fletch.  
“ _Maybe_ I’d be halfway to solving his dentistry requirements by the second line,” Serena supplied. She caught Bernie’s eyes – inevitable, really, given the amount of sly glances she’d been throwing at her, her brain insistently sketching her out onto a bed-shaped canvas ever since that bloody Botticelli remark – and when Bernie gave her the subtlest of winks, she momentarily lost her breath.  
“Maybe he’d redeem himself with a good limerick,” Bernie said mildly, eyebrows raised in challenge to the boys. Serena groaned.  
“There was a young man from Nantucket,” Fletch and Raf began simultaneously. They paused to grin at each other.  
“I’m blaming you for whatever I’m about to endure!” Serena threw at Bernie, who held her hands up in mock defence. Raf and Fletch sniggered.  
“Who had a-” their eyes met again, and they looked anywhere but at Serena. “No, never mind. Can’t do it.”  
Serena huffed, mostly to cover a snort.  
“And this is the standard you think I’m deserving of from a date, is it?” she asked in almost-completely mock indignation. They laughed. Bernie, too, the traitor.  
With Serena glowering fondly, they all sipped their drinks.  
“No, no, you’re absolutely right, Serena. I apologise,” Serena eyed Bernie suspiciously, who stared back, and carried on innocently. “You are thoroughly deserving of… the most beautiful poetry,” Bernie’s tone was full of sincerity, and not a little bit of sex, really. Serena blushed profusely. Again.  
“I bet our Major knows some beautiful poetry, eh, Ms. Wolfe?” Raf asked, slyly, from behind his pint.  
Serena rolled her eyes dramatically and threw herself back into her chair, mostly to cover the fact that Bernie’s sultriness, dripping from her eyes as well as her mouth, had swatted Serena in the heart. Again.  
“Oh, marvellous. Let’s lower the tone even further!”  
Bernie’s eyebrows shot into her fringe as she bestowed an “oh, really!” glare onto Serena, who resolutely – “Yes, _really, Soldier,_ ” – glared right back.  
Bernie took a deep breath. Leaned in close to the table. Lowered her eyes, and her voice.  


“You dig.”   


Pause.  


“She digs,” Bernie’s voice was breathy, and not quite gravelly but definitely deliberately sandy, and whilst the boys sat back, intrigued, Serena was completely hooked on the tone, her body leaning in almost imperceptibly.  


“They dig,” she almost caressed each letter, oozing them slowly over her lips, as fascinated by Serena’s reaction to it as Serena seemed to be by the slow, deliberate movements of her tongue.  


“We…” she licked her lips, tongue peeking out quickly as she fluttered her eyelashes, and smirked as Serena practically shivered, her thumb unconsciously stroking her arm. “… dig.”  


As her eyes raised enough to meet Serena’s, she allowed a couple of seconds of the blazing stare, her own heart almost matching the fluttering vein she spotted in Serena’s neck. Then, she cleared her throat and sat up loudly and abruptly, causing three surprised jumps and shattering the atmosphere.  


“As poems go,” Bernie almost drawled, fingering the rim of her glass. “It’s not amazing, but it is very… deep,” her eyes flickered to Raf, and they managed to contain their snorts for a whole three seconds.  
Serena barked a heartening belly laugh, swiftly burying her face in her hands, but betrayed by her shaking shoulders.  
“That _was_ beautiful!” Fletch chuckled, wiping his eyes.  
"Lower the tone enough for you?" Bernie asked, as deliberately low and heated as she could manage whilst Raf and Fletch were busy laughing.  
“Quite,” Serena clipped, internally congratulating Bernie on the subtle double entendre. She schooled her features into her best surgical dispassion, and waved her red light at the still ogling man at the bar. “A level of intricate beauty that I doubt Mr Flasher there could hope to attain. Mercifully. Though,” she frowned. “I do rather hope than I can expect more from my dating future than quirky poetry. However beautifully read,” she added, natural as anything.   
“Well,” Fletch said, downing the dregs of his pint and slapping Raf on the shoulder as he stood. “That’s the limit of our expertise, then, I’m afraid.”  
“It’s a wonder you’re both still single,” Bernie jested with a smirk.  
“Alright! Well, we’ll leave you in the obviously superior hands of Ms. Wolfe, then, Serena. Maybe she’ll bag you a Shakespeare. With a nice set of pearlers on ‘im.”  
“Delightful,” Serena muttered, setting them all to chuckling again. “Thank you, gentlemen!” Serena and Bernie dipped their glasses at the retreating waves. 

  
  
They polished off the wine and relaxed back into their seats, shuffling subtly so that their ankles brushed. Their eyes met, half lidded and sparkling, until Serena looked away, afraid that they were saying far more than her brain was ready to part with.  
“So… um…” Bernie cleared her throat, her fingers fiddling with the traffic light device. “Would you? Er… be up for it? A date, I mean?”  
Serena groaned and buried her face in her hands.  
“Oh, God! He’s not _still_ looking, is he?!”  
Bernie blinked rapidly, then once she had processed what Serena actually said, let out her breath in a shaky laugh.  
“No! No… um… Serena I…”  
When Serena gingerly peeked through her fingers, it was to find Bernie with a shy smile. When she fully, slowly, dropped her hands, it was to find Bernie holding up her traffic lights, set to a determined green. She utterly failed to conceal a huge grin, which sent Bernie’s heart soaring. Bernie gave her light, and her eyebrows, another little wiggle at Serena.  
Minutes – weeks, actually – too late, Serena nevertheless attempted nonchalance.  
“Well, it all depends, really, you know–”  
“Busy, are you?” Bernie interjected, jerking her head towards the bar.  
“You’re not endearing yourself, Ms. Wolfe,” Serena’s voice carried jovial warning, in the octave that consistently weakened Bernie’s knees. An effect she knew, for definite now, that she could also replicate in Serena.  
“Please, Serena,” she added extra gravel on the plea, watching, awed, as Serena’s eyes darkened. “I’ll… err…” she dipped her head, smiling gently through her fringe. “I’ll read to you.”  
“More beautiful poetry?” Serena joked, her voice, its almost-whisper, matching Bernie’s.  
“I could read you the phone book, if you’d like?”  
So intently was Serena lost in Bernie’s voice, that it took her a moment to catch up.  
“Someone’s cocky!” she huffed. Briefly, she wondered when it had become the most natural thing to stare at each other as they were, exactly when their eyes had decided to form a relationship quite separate to their reality. Briefly, Serena thought about what it would be like, if they actually caught up with their eyes, which she now rolled, fondly. She picked up her traffic lights and fiddled with it a little, before turning it and flashing her green at Bernie. Bernie’s grin almost matched Serena’s.  
“Dinner?”  
“With a Botticelli? How could I resist?”  
Bernie laughed, radiating warmth and relief.  
“Erm…” Bernie’s cheeks tinged pink, and Serena melted. “Maybe… tonight?”  
Serena didn’t even think to panic.  
“Well,” she quirked her eyebrows. “Who am I to defy the historically _roaring success_ of Traffic Light Night?” She gathered her things as Bernie watched her indulgently. “Aren’t you coming, Shakespeare?”  
“Well,” Bernie quickly shrugged into her coat, grabbed her bag and they strolled out, their arms brushing. “ _That_ all depends on your pick up lines. I’m not easy, you know.”  
Serena blushed to the roots of her hair, and coughed.  
“What _did_ happen to the young man from Nantucket, anyway? Got his head stuck in a bucket?”  
Bernie’s easy laughter trailed them down the street.


	2. Dirty word, Yoga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There once was a surgeon at Holby  
>  (Who was worse, or better, at yoga than she was at limericks)

When Serena entered the office, the door rattled in its hinges, and the blinds nearly blew off with the force of her growled exhale.  
Everything… not alright, obviously,” Bernie’s original question trailed off as Serena let go of lumps of her hair, and instead began pacing in the minute space, giving her the air of a very agitated pigeon.  
“Bloody Ric Griffin!”  
Bernie waited patiently for Serena to get a grip on herself. She put her pen down and watched in amusement as Serena stopped pacing, waved her hands, opened and closed her mouth, paced a bit more, then flung herself into her chair with a final snarl. When her face reemerged from behind her hands, Serena smiled, sickly sweet, sarcastic venom dripping from it.  
“Today’s mindfulness awareness… _thing_ … Includes a lunchtime round of mindful yoga. Mindful. Yoga.”  
Bernie sat back in her chair. “Ah,”  
“Yes, ah! Mindful bloody yoga. _Yoga,_ Bernie. And at lunchtime! I mean it’s bad enough they’re asking us to sit there all day and channel our inner bloody Oprah’s or whatever the hell they’re planning, but now I have to be relaxed and _mindful_ doing _exercise_ through my lunch break!” Serena’s face scrunched in disgust.  
Bernie schooled her features carefully. “That does sound problematic. Is there anything I can do to help?”  
Serena rolled her eyes. “Orchestrate an internal disaster? Go and tell them to be a bit more _mindful_ of my stomach?”  
Serena softened at Bernie’s sympathetic smile.  
“Oh, well. These things are sent to try us! Though, I warn you, any laughing at me, and I mightn’t be very mindful about hurting you.”  
Bernie laughed, but with a grimace that Serena immediately picked up on.  
“What?”  
Bernie’s eyes shifted around the desk, resolutely avoiding Serena’s.  
“I’m not… umm… ‘mnotgoingtoyoga,” Bernie mumbled. Serena blinked.  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
Bernie took a deep breath, steeled herself. “I’m not partaking in the yoga, Serena.”  
“You have absolutely not wriggled out of this one,” Serena’s face darkened comically. Bernie shrugged, and gestured down at herself.  
“‘Fraid my disability rules me out of this one. Dismissed on medical grounds.”  
Serena scoffed. “ _You’re_ dismissed on _medical grounds_?! And what am I, a spring bloody chicken?!”  
Bernie’s face practically contorted in her unsuccessful attempt at not grinning. “Age is _not_ a disability, Serena, nor is it a barrier. An IED trauma, sadly enough, is.”  
Serena’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t your osteopath specifically recommend gentle exercise. A bit of _light yoga,_ for instance?”  
She couldn’t help it; Bernie beamed. “That’s why I had to fire him.”  
She rose to her feet, sauntered over to lean on Serena’s desk, bent low and rested on her elbows to whisper in Serena’s ear. Despite herself, Serena shivered, and utterly failed to compensate for her reaction with an extra hard frown.  
“Come on, Serena. Positive, mindful vibes. Think of all the new things your body will learn."  
When she failed to contain a muted whimper, a violent blush rose from her chest to her cheeks, and a loud belly laugh escaped Bernie. Sensing that her opportunity for a witty comeback was ruined, Serena instead pinned Bernie with a look that quickly silenced the other surgeon’s laugh, and left her breath trying to catch up with her heart.  
“Yes, well,” Serena replied, her voice deep and husky, her eyelashes giving a little flutter. “Every cloud, eh, Berenice?”  
Satisfied that Bernie now had a matching colour to her own skin, Serena patted her hand cheerily as she rose and exited the office, leaving Bernie staring after her, blinking.

 

-§-

 

At the moment that Bernie sought out the clock and smirked slightly, the department phone rang.   
“Ms. Wolfe?”  
“Dr. Copeland?”  
“Ms. Wolfe, I suggest that you find the best possible view of the memorial garden. I suggest you do it immediately. And you’re _very_ welcome!”  
Bernie stared at the dead phone in her hand for a moment, before heading out of the doors. She found a spot between staircases that directly overlooked the garden, and her honking, bellowing laugh echoed around four flights.  
She didn’t know what she found funnier; Ric’s determined concentration, Sacha’s look of utter confusion, Hansen… she guffawed again… Hanssen, the drunken flamingo, or Serena’s frustration, visible even from a distance and through dirty glass. Bernie indulged herself for a few moments longer, until Serena tumbled off to the side, and though she laughed at the murderous look on Serena’s face, she did actually feel a twinge of sympathy. With the tendrils of a plan forming, she took off.

Outside, Bernie stopped just out of sight of the garden. She fluffed her fingers through her hair, puffed out her cheeks a few times, then closed the rest of the distance between her and the budding yogi’s at a sprint. 

“Sorry!” she panted, holding up her hands. “Sorry, sorry. Ms. Campbell, you’re urgently needed on AAU.”  
Bernie valiantly tried to keep her face neutral as Hanssen questioned her, his legs and elbows still awkwardly twisted.  
“It’s… ah… departmental crisis. Nothing Ms. Campbell can’t solve, if she moves… quickly!” Bernie ground out the last word, and this seemed to spike Serena into action. “Ah, right, of course, yes. Well, sorry, gentlemen. Such a shame! I’ll try to make it back before the end of the session,” she half-run with Bernie’s hand on her back, waving her hand dismissively behind her at Sacha’s hopeful “Call me if you need help!”

They stopped their frantic speed walking as they reached the entrance, Serena leaning against the wall catching her breath between hysterics. Bernie chuckled along, before lightly pushing at Serena’s shoulder.   
“Come on,” she started them off again towards AAU. “You’re not acting very ‘departmental crisis’-like, and there could be spies!” she mock whispered, causing Serena to break out in giggles again.  
“Departmental crisis?!” Serena wheezed, as she tried to regain some decorum in the lift. “Was that really the best you could do?!”  
Bernie crossed her arms defensively. “Got you out, didn’t it? I can’t lie on the spot, especially to Hanssen. He’s like… some sort of special superhero that makes you unable to lie,” she finished lamely, and Serena lost control over her hysterics once again.  
“Poor Sacha, though!” Serena wiped her eyes. “Did you see his face?!”  
At this, Bernie stopped pretending to be offended, and broke into loud barks of laughter.  
“Poor sod. I almost felt bad that I wasn’t in love with _him_!”  
When Bernie realised what she’d said, after glancing at Serena’s shell shocked face because she’d gone completely silent, Bernie swallowed thickly, her face burning up.  
They covered the distance to their office in silence, both hiding secret smiles in small coughs, or touches to their faces. Bernie threw open the door with a flourish, and Serena stopped dead in the doorway.  
“Lunch,” Bernie explained, rather unnecessarily, as Serena took in the desk laid with a makeshift tablecloth, packet sandwiches, crisps, a bowl of chopped fruit, and some sparkling water. “How they expect you to foster a positive attitude on an empty stomach is thoroughly beyond me. Really, I’m doing you all a favour. Should be running this course myself.”  
Serena shut the door softly, and gazed at Bernie fondly. It wasn’t just a hastily thrown together packed lunch; it was her favourite sandwich, favourite crisps, seasonal fruits… Serena sighed.  
“I think I just fell a little bit more in love with you, Berenice Wolfe,” she trailed her fingers across Bernie’s cheek, then sat down, and intently examined the spread before her.  
“Bloody delicious!” she exclaimed. “I am _so_ glad that I spent last night too immersed in Virginia Woolf and gin to adequately prepare what would have been an unquestionably pitiable lunch.” When she looked up, she answered Bernie’s grateful smile with a small wink. “Well come on, then. This departmental crisis won’t eat itself!” 

 

They ate leisurely, Bernie recounting the morning on AAU, Serena relaying things she’d learned so far, interspersed with a very unique commentary that had Bernie snorting sparkling water and would probably earn Serena some sort of retribution if she ever found herself in a spiritual afterlife. In the spurts of companionable silence they caught each other staring, and smiled shyly, eyes crinkling and sparkling as they drank each other in.  
Eventually, Serena sighed. “Do you think they’re yoga’d out by now?”  
Bernie glanced at the clock. “It’s been nearly half an hour. I’d have thought so. They all looked like they were about to do themselves an injury.”  
Serena chuckled. “Honestly. Just when I think that the board cannot amaze me further, they consistently prove me wrong.”  
Bernie began clearing their rubbish, pausing at Serena’s raised eyebrows.  
“I can be tidy, occasionally!” she huffed indignantly. Serena rolled her eyes as she rose from her seat.  
“Oh, look!” she exclaimed, pointing behind Bernie, her finger arching through the air. “A pig!” She brushed crumbs from Bernie’s side of the desk pointedly, picked up a couple of stray berries and popped them into her mouth. Bernie muttered something indecipherable, which had Serena sauntering towards her, eyebrows raised. Bernie squirmed, but Serena merely leaned in and brushed her lips along Bernie’s jaw, eliciting a surprised gasp.  
“You can’t deny the truth, love,”  
Bernie flushed from her toes to her roots, flames shooting through her veins. Before she could doubt herself, she launched forward to capture Serena, kissing her desperately.   
“I love you,” she whispered fiercely into the small gap between their lips as they drew breath. She moved her lips to Serena’s cheek, her neck, her earlobe. “I know I’m useless – more than! – at saying it, that you deserve more than hearing it in the bloody lift by proxy of my not being in love with Sacha Levy but. _God, Serena._ I do,”  
Their kisses became softer, slower. Their foreheads pressed together, they gathered themselves for a moment before they opened their eyes. Serena cupped Bernie’s face. Pressed featherlight kisses to her lips, before resting her hands on Bernie’s upper arms and squeezing hard.  
“I think I shall keep you exactly as you are, Bernie Wolfe. You are everything I deserve. And more.”  
They stared at each other for long moments, eyes reading and conveying, until they smiled, a secret, barely-there smile and headed out. Bernie walked her to the ward doors.  
“Gird your loins,” she whispered, with an encouraging pat on Serena’s back. Serena barked a laugh.  
“Thank you, Major!” She set off, but just before the doors closed, she shouted back and Bernie whirled around. “Bernie? I do, too.”  
They both floated around on smiles for the rest of the day.  


  
Well, almost.  
They met at Albie’s, Serena joining Raf, Morven and Bernie at the bar, dumping her bag with an exaggerated groan.  
“I do hope that’s for me,” she looked pointedly at the glass of red wine, and Bernie handed it to her wordlessly. “Thank God,” she moaned in appreciation as her first sip wound its way through her system.  
“That bad?” Raf asked, just as Sacha appeared at their side.  
“I don’t know what she has to groan about,” he said as he stretched his arm out to hand over his money. He rubbed at his elbow, wincing. “But yes, it was.”  
Serena raised her eyebrows at him. “You only had to turn up for an hour!”  
“Of _yoga,_ ” he practically spat the word. Serena shrugged, clinked her glass against his.  
“Fair point.”  
“What was the departmental crisis, anyway?” he looked expectantly between the four AAU staff members, two of whom looked blank. He focused his attention between Bernie and Serena.  
“You did not-”  
Bernie shrugged. “I find myself quite unable to eat alone. Recently developed condition, don’t know what it’s about. And if I didn’t eat, well… there would have been a staffing crisis. So, as co-lead, I made an executive decision. For the wellbeing of the department, of course. Plus, can you imagine if she’d had to suffer through the entire session? We’d have felt the fall-out on the ward for weeks.”  
“Oi!” Serena sputtered, as Raf and Morven laughed and Sacha looked incredulous.  
“Unbelievable!” But he laughed, dipping his pint at Bernie. “You are a very, _very_ lucky woman, Ms. Campbell. Evening,” Serena stared after him as he walked off. She whipped her head around to find two sets of amused eyes looking between her and Bernie.  
“I was the logical choice for rescue,” she blustered, her eyes practically boring holes into Bernie’s temple. “He just means-”  
“Serena,” Bernie started quietly, a smirk hidden on her dipped head. Morven burst out laughing.  
“He _means_ exactly what we all know he means. You two are about as subtle as a helicopter in the ambulance bay,” Morven said fondly, as she grabbed her things and moved to snag them a table.  
“What-” Serena started, mouth moving but unable to form words. Raf leaned in between them to grab his pint from the bar.  
“ _She’s_ talking about the eye sex,” he clarified, his own eyes twinkling as he followed Morven. Bernie met Serena’s eyes, sheepishly. She shrugged her eyebrows.  
“Busted, I suppose,” She touched Serena’s hand, and the other woman jumped violently. Bernie kept it there until Serena focused.  
“Alright?” she asked. Her eyes searched Serena’s deeply. After a few breaths, Serena gave Bernie’s hand a firm squeeze, and a smile that Bernie saw forming in the softening of her eyes.  
“I’m alright,” she breathed. Bernie nodded.  
“Good. And I’m alright,”  
“And the world can go round,” Serena added. She absorbed Bernie’s wondrous stare for a few moments, before she bucked up her posture and tugged on Bernie’s hand. “Come on, there’s a chair with my name on it, and Morven’s taken the bottle.”

“What the bloody hell is the one legged king eagle pose?” Bernie sputtered into her wine glass, as everyone else laughed. Serena raised her wine glass.  
“I’ll be showing you in a minute!”  
Raf picked up on the glint in Bernie’s eye, and emphatically topped up Serena’s glass.  
“Not going to work, Mr. di Lucca,” Serena waggled her finger admonishingly. “Though, if it keeps the Shiraz flowing, I’m not adverse to your trying.”

  
An hour later saw Serena standing next to the table, an intense look of concentration on her face as she tried to keep her balance on one leg whilst folding her elbows opposingly. At least, that was how she’d explained it to the other three, who were looking at her with tilted heads, confused but thoroughly entertained.  
“What if you did the arms first, then balanced on one leg?” Morven suggested.  
“No, no,” Serena huffed out. “This is the way Mr. Bendy did it. This is the way I shall do it.”  
“Mr. Bendy?” Raf spat, incredulously.  
“I think she’s nicknamed,” Bernie replied, eyes full of mirth. “Serena, I really don’t think-” she winced as Serena wobbled violently. The only thing that stopped her from tumbling was her hip bumping the table.  
“Bloody hell!”  
The three of them burst out laughing, unable to contain it any longer. Serena sat down with a huff, crossing her arms forcefully across her chest.  
“Well, it’s a good job you’re all finding this so hysterical, as it’s my job to pass on the skills I’ve learnt to the rest of the AAU staff,” she looked at them smugly. Morven, Raf and Bernie shared a look, and by some silent prodding, Bernie cleared her throat.  
“Right. And… err… do we have to precisely replicate the wobble, or is that an individual flair?”  
Serena glared at her as they dissolved into peals of laughter again.  
“I’d like to see you do better, you Big, Macho, Mindfulness Avoiding Army Medic,”  
Bernie met her challenging stare, eyes sparkling. She slowly drained her glass and got to her feet. She rolled up her sleeves. When she cleared her throat and shook her head to clear her hair out of her eyes, Serena heaved her eyes heavenwards as she sat back in her chair.  
And gaped as Bernie took a deep breath in, slowly drew her left leg up and wrapped it around her right. As she bent slightly at the knee, she overlapped her elbows and brought her hands together.  
Raf whistled lowly and Morven squealed and clapped her hands.  
“Oh, my, God, that’s so clever!” she exclaimed. “Oh, um, no offence, Serena,” she added, quickly, before bestowing her delighted face on Bernie once again.  
Bernie effortlessly untangled herself and stretched upwards before she relaxed. She sucked her cheeks in as she eyed Serena, trying not to react to the darkening of Serena’s eyes. They were always a reliable tell, despite Serena’s exterior, which she now projected as deadly calm.  
“What was that?” she asked. Her tone pooled somewhere south of Bernie’s belly button, and she squirmed.  
“That,” she leaned over to top up her glass. “Was Garudasana. Also apparently known as “the one legged king eagle,”” Bernie let her quotation fingers fall and sat back in her chair with more than a little swagger.  
“And how did you… How do you… Explain,” Serena demanded.  
“The osteopath did recommend it,” Bernie shrugged, her eyes twinkling beneath her fringe.  
“I just do it at home where no one can see,”  
“I believe it’s called spying,” Serena retorted, loud enough for Dom to crane his neck and give them all a cheery wave in front of Sacha’s equally disgruntled face.  
“Well, if you will indulge in recreational, body contorting activities in open spaces, how can you expect people not to appreciate it… From a distance… with powerful binoculars?” Bernie waggled her eyebrows so goofily that Serena rolled her eyes then relaxed into her laugh.  
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, warmly.  
“And you love it,” Bernie shot back. Serena caught the doubt flashing behind Bernie’s cockiness, and her heart fluttered just a little bit more.  
“Yes, I do,” she murmured softly, pinning Bernie with an adoring look until Bernie’s eyes showed nothing but trust, and desire.  
“Would you… umm… maybe like to see some other things I’ve learned?” Bernie’s voice barely caressed the words, her lips all corners and minute movements. Serena’s own, when it came back to her, was low, gravelly and her words dripping with lust.  
“Only if it involves my toes curling with a limited amount of contortionism, please.”  
“That’s my kinda-”  
“ALRIGHT!” Morven bellowed, and the two women jumped, then blushed violently as they remembered their surroundings. Raf’s shoulders were shaking and Morven held one hand up, the other tightly pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s quite enough, thank you!”  
“Sorry,” Bernie muttered, a little mortified.  
“Yes,” Serena smirked, despite the faint traces of embarrassment still tinging her cheeks. “We’re dreadfully sorry for highlighting the oft overlooked fact that women, despite all societal thinking to the contrary, actually do not become nuns and martyrs after childbirth, or the age of forty-five. No offence meant to your delicate sensibilities, Dr. Digby,” she raised her eyebrows as Morven sank further into her chair.  
“I didn’t mean… I just meant…” she groaned and covered her face.  
Bernie tutted affectionately. “She’s teasing you, Morven.”  
Morven peeked through her fingers and grinned sheepishly at Serena’s snort.  
“Right,” Bernie drained her glass, and caught Serena’s eye. “Coming?”  
Serena’s face morphed into the epitome of wickedness, but before she could open her mouth, Morven’s hand, once again held up as though in defence, stopped her.  
“Please,” she wrinkled her nose. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not say what I know you want to say. There’s a line,” she pleaded, with a note of desperation. Serena shrugged when Raf nodded emphatically.  
“Prudes,” she pouted, with a wink. 

  
They weaved their way to the doors, and stood still for a moment outside to appreciate the fresh air.  
“So,” Serena took a deep breath as they began their amble down the street. “Um… Is it very beneficial, this _yoga_ business?”  
Bernie laughed, a honking release that caused Serena’s skin to pimple with the force of how much she loved hearing it.  
“Only you could make it sound like a dirty word!”  
“Well,” Serena coughed lightly. “Is it?”  
Bernie laughed again. She ran her hand along Serena’s arm, swinging them freely when Serena grasped her hand.  
“Gird your loins,” Bernie mock-whispered. Serena stooped dead. Blinked. Raised her eyebrows. Stared off into the distance. Bernie watched, fascinated, as her eyes darted with whatever was going through her brain. She snapped back to reality and almost left Bernie trailing in her wake, tripping over her own feet to catch up with Serena, who hadn’t relinquished her hand and had developed quite an impressive march.  
“Best foot forward, then, Major! You’ve a long night ahead,” her wicked laughter echoed around them. Bernie revelled in it, revelled in Serena. She lifted their joined hands and kissed Serena’s firmly.  
“I am very lucky,” she said, matter of factly. Serena patted her hand, then hurried them along once again.  
“I know, darling. And very soon, I’m rather hoping I will be, too.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have plans for a sequel, but this kept nagging, and I think it could serve as a stand-alone or a sequel, and also because I can't even deal with their story irl anymore, it can actually go to hell (well, not really, but...mustn't rant, mustn't rant, mustn't rant!) and when I feel angsty and shitty, apparently a load of comic drivel pours out!  
> Thanks for all the lovely comments that also drove me to actually see it through to an end. Wonderful people :)


End file.
